Title: The Highwayman
Grade: 9
Subject: English
Purpose: To further students understanding of poetry, figurative language, and examine a
range of poetry from different areas. Additionally, students will explore their ideas through
thoughtful discussion.
Outcome(s):
GCO 1: Students will be expected to speak and listen to explore, extend, clarify, and reflect
on their thoughts, ideas, feelings, and experiences.
SCO 1.1: examine others’ ideas in discussion to extend their own understanding.
SCO 1.2: ask relevant questions calling for elaboration, clarification, or qualification and
respond thoughtfully to such questions.
Resources/Materials: Poem handout, whiteboard, paper, pen/pencil.
Introduction: Silent reading for the first 15 minutes.
Write on the white board “Some call death “the ultimate sacrifice.” What are some examples
of people who have died to save others? What do you think were their reasons to give their
lives?” Have students do a quick writing response after silent reading. Have them share and
discuss. What does sacrifice mean to them? Do they have examples of people who sacrifice
their lives for others?
Body: Introduce the poem Highwayman by Alfred Noyse. Give students the background of
the poem and the author. The poem was written in the 18th century but does have a
contemporary meaning. Go over what a highwayman is. Hand out the poem to the students.
Read the poem aloud to the students and have them follow along.
Create discussion: What did they think about the poem? Do they have questions about it?
Define words for students that may be unclear or not understood. What is their
understanding of it? Discuss the story of the poem. Discuss figurative language used.
Closure: As a class create a summary of the poem. Discuss what a summary is and what
should be included/excluded so others understand the story of the poem.
Definitions:
Torrent: A strong and fast-moving stream of water or other liquid.
A sudden, violent, and copious outpouring of (something, typically words or feelings): "she
was subjected to a torrent of abuse".
Galleon: A sailing ship in use (esp. by Spain) from the 15th through 17th centuries, originally
as a warship, later for trade
Moor: A tract of open uncultivated upland; a heath
Breeches: Short trousers fastened just below the knee, now chiefly worn for riding a horse or
as part of ceremonial dress
Doe: A female deer
Rapier: A thin, light, sharp-pointed sword used for thrusting.
Plaiting: a braid
Ostler: stableman: someone employed in a stable to take care of the horses.
Bonny: Attractive; beautiful
Harry: Persistently carry out attacks on.
Persistently harass
Scarce: Insufficient for the demand
Casement: A window or part of a window set on a hinge so that it opens like a door
Tawny: An orange-brown or yellowish-brown color
Sniggering jest: They began to make little jokes about her on a side note
Strove/Strive: Make great efforts to achieve or obtain something
Spurred: Urge (a horse) forward by digging one’s spurs into its sides. Give an incentive or
encouragement to someone.
O’er: short for over
Shrieking: Utter a high-pitched piercing sound or words, esp. as an expression of terror, pain,
or excitement.
Brandished: Wave or flourish (something, esp. a weapon) as a threat or in anger or
excitement
The Highwayman
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding- Riding - - riding- He’d a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He’d a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with a never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle- His rapier hilt a-twinkle- His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter- Bess, the landlord’s daughter - Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened- - his face was white and peaked- His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter- The landlord’s black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I’m after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o’er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before and rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching- Marching- - marching- King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
“Now keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
“Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way.”
She twisted her hands behind her but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the house crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that hey did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding- Riding- - riding- The readcoats looked to teir priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight- Her musket shattered the moonlight- Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him- -with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace of his throat.
And still on a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the mood is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy’s ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding- Riding- - riding- The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s blacked-eye daughter- Bess, the landlord’s daughter- Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.